


Dining Out

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: First Times, M/M, Other: See Story Notes, Plot What Plot, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 00:20:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/791871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein Jim realizes that eating out with Sandburg is always an adventure, and French waiters are more intuitive than you would think.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dining Out

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for some adult language. Fortunately (or unfortunately, as the case may be), that's the only real warning for this puppy. 
> 
> This story was born as a series of obsenads on the list. Initially I talked about another fandom on list and was making up for that as well as trying to keep certain badgers at bay. Imagine my surprise when the first part earned me a key to "the basement!" See, it's all fun and games until somebody gets bitten by a plot bunny. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who kept asking for more. Hope I gave you what you wanted 'cause this was all J and B wanted this time around. 

## Dining Out

by Nynaeve

Author's disclaimer: Not that it *really* helps, but I disclaim intending to violate anybody's copyright. No characters created by Pet Fly, etc. really belong to me. The story inspired by said characters, as always, *is* mine. No harm meant or money made. 

* * *

Dining Out  
By Nynaeve  
nyn-tkd@usa.net 

* * *

The top half of Blair's head popped up over the large menu he was holding. "So, what are you getting?" 

Jim looked up from where he had been idly drumming his fingers on top of his own folded menu. "Sandburg, what does that matter? You've been looking at that menu for fifteen minutes now. You know all the choices...probably memorized 'em. At this point, what difference could it possibly make what I'm getting?" 

Blair's eyes narrowed a little before his head disappeared behind the menu again and Jim felt a twinge deep inside. Blair always projected such gentleness that when he showed signs of rougher emotions, like the mildly pissed-off look he had just flashed, Jim usually found himself responding with surprise. Lately that response was to grow an immediate hard-on. 

He shook out his napkin and dropped it into his lap before trying to talk to Blair again. "Isn't there anything that looks good to you?" 

Blair lowered the menu and gave Jim an inscrutable look before answering. "Sure! This place sounds like they have really good food and that's the problem, man." He looked back down at his menu. "What do you think they mean by 'spicy'? Do you think it's like 'make your mouth tingle' or like 'ai-chi-wawa'?" 

Jim stared at Blair and licked his lips, his own mouth tingling with imagined sensations. There was no way that Blair could know how sexy that last sentence had been. No way. And anyway, even if he did there was no way that he could suspect how it would affect Jim. Jim was pretty sure he had been doing a good job of hiding his recent lustful thoughts about his roommate. 

He gave his head a little shake and then snapped, "Sandburg, what the hell are you talking about?" 

Blair blinked up at Jim and then muttered something about hungry bears and hurt paws. 

"You're damn right I'm hungry, Chief. So if you don't make up your mind in the next two minutes, I'm ordering for both of us and then you're stuck. Got it?" 

"But Jiiiiim, that's not fair, man!" 

"Tough shit." 

"Look, let me just ask the waiter if they do substitutions. I really want a spinach salad but they don't have it on the menu. However, they do advertise a spinach garnish on their Ahi course. Maybe they'll work with me." 

"Chief, this better not turn into another Denny's disaster." 

Blair glared at him and Jim felt his groin tighten further. "That wasn't what I would call a disaster, Jim. You're making a big deal out of nothing." 

"You asked the waitress if she could make you an egg white omelet with feta and olives. The cook came out and yelled at us." Jim deadpanned. 

Blair rolled his eyes and returned to looking at his menu. "So, you gonna tell me what you're getting or not?" 

Jim grinned and shook his head at his tenacious partner. "I thought I'd try the blackened tuna." 

Blair dropped his menu with a clatter as it hit his plate and he leaned over the table. "Jim, are you crazy? What about your senses, man? You might as well peel all the tastebuds completely off your tongue!" 

"Woah, Chief, hold up." Jim put his hand out and patted Blair's warm cheek. He pulled his hand back in mild annoyance at himself, then curled his fingers around his palm to savor the sensation. He eyed the man across the table from him with amusement. "I'm a little surprised at you, Blair. We've been working on this senses thing for, what, three years now? You've taught me a lot and I've paid attention. If you don't think you've given me enough control to eat spicy food like I used to, then I have to say, I'm a little hurt at your lack of confidence." He smiled to show that he wasn't really angry. 

Blair sat back and folded his arms across his chest. The two men gazed at each other for a moment and then Blair chuckled and ran a hand back through his hair. "You're right. You go ahead and eat what you like, Jim. After all, that's been the point of everything we've done. To make your senses a tool you can use for whatever you need. You really think you've reached that kind of control?" 

"I really do." Jim was still smiling. 

"Cool! I'm proud of you, Jim." 

Jim's smile faded as he considered that. Proud? But Blair was the one who did all the thinking. Jim just did what he was told. "Chief if you wanna be proud of someone, be proud of yourself. I'm just the grunt in this partnership." 

Blair smiled softly and shrugged a careless shoulder as he lowered his eyes back to his menu. "If you say so." They were silent for another minute and then Blair said, "Do you think they would be willing to saut the carrots instead of boiling them?" 

Jim groaned, amused, and settled back into his seat. They might never get to eat tonight, but if it meant that he got to spend the whole evening with Blair then it was worth it. He shifted in his seat, easing his pants into a more comfortable position and set about surreptitiously admiring the way the indirect lighting made his partner's eyelashes seem to glow behind the lenses of his glasses. Dining out with Blair was always worth it, even if they were likely to get yelled at by the chef of "Le Petit Chou." 

* * *

>Part 2  


* * *

Their waiter had done three fly-bys of their table already and still Sandburg dithered. Jim pulled his gaze away from watching the subtle play of light over his partner's sensual features and methodically finished shredding the napkin his scotch and soda had come with. He looked around for something else to distract himself with and wondered if the placemat was edible. His stomach growled loudly enough for the couple in the booth behind them to crane their necks curiously in Jim's direction. 

Jim lowered his head and grumbled, "Sandburg, gimme a hint. Ballpark, how much longer are we talking here?" 

"Oh, I've decided. I was just waiting for the waiter to buzz us again. I think he's funny when he's trying not to be pushy." 

"What?!" Jim was incredulous. "You mean you've been ready and you haven't said anything? Jesus, Sandburg..." 

"Not much I could do when the waiter wasn't around, was there?" Blair patiently adjusted his glasses and folded his expressive, masculine hands together on the edge of the table. 

Jim's mouth opened and closed. He had no idea what to do in the face of that sort of attitude. Any outburst would sound like overreaction. "Maybe there's nothing _you_ can do..." he muttered as he stood up and scanned the restaurant. 

"Jim!" hissed Blair. "What are you doing?" 

"Finding our waiter," Jim explained over his shoulder. He smiled to himself as he watched Sandburg's beautiful head whip around, trying to see if anyone in the darkened dining room was noticing Jim's purposeful prowl through the tables. 

It never ceased to amaze Jim that his partner and himself had such totally opposing points of view about almost everything. As Jim searched around for their suddenly elusive waiter he mentally weighed how he and Blair differed on what was considered acceptable public behavior. This was never more clearly demonstrated than in a typical Ellison-Sandburg trip out to dinner, like this one. Jim knew that he and Blair were basically operating from two different rulebooks about life--for all practical purposes the books weren't even written in the same language. Their upbringing on opposite ends of the social ladder had seen to that. 

To Blair, it was nothing to order an entire meal that only vaguely resembled anything on the restaurant's menu. Jim, on the other hand, figured that somebody had gone to the bother of printing a menu for a reason besides to advertise prices. It never occurred to him to want something that wasn't offered. But while Blair might give meal directions in paragraph length, he also tried to be ingratiating in so many other ways. Jim had charm to spare when it suited him, but in his world waiters had a job just like any other person. It wasn't as if perps were in a big hurry to kiss up to cops and leave twenty percent tips on their way out of jail; why should he worry about soothing the feelings of a testy server? 

But Blair's behavior also strangely touched Jim in a way he wasn't sure he could explain. Watching Blair maneuver through society made Jim's heart warm. It made him want to snag Blair around the waist and nuzzle him to insensibility. Because Blair's version of manners wasn't a conscious thing, wasn't something he planned out ahead of time to win himself more friends. He _always_ acted like this; self-assured about things that he thought were right and good and invariably concerned enough to try and get others to agree with him. It wouldn't crush him if they didn't, but he gave his best efforts to see that they would. He was what was commonly referred to as "all heart." His point of view centered on the well being of the world at large, not just his own self, and he liked to share this sentiment with as many people as possible. 

Even Blair's complete disregard of menus stemmed from his confidence that his own dietary ideas were really in everyone's best interest and the fact that they weren't represented on the menu was probably only because the manager had yet to be awakened to the true benefits of dining like a Sandburg. 

Jim joked about these personality quirks of Sandburg's, the way they set Blair apart from him, but really they meant the world to him. He and Blair were two totally different people, and that was just fine in Jim's opinion. He loved that Blair never tried to pretend he and Jim were seeing eye-to-eye, even to appease Jim's temper. He took comfort in the fact that he could rely on Blair to be an honest sounding board for Jim's own rough personality. Being around Blair was like constantly hearing an echo bounce back to him from somewhere wonderful and far away. He couldn't always see where Blair was coming from, but he always heard him. Jim had the ability to listen to just about anything he wanted to, but it was Blair that he _heard_. 

Jim paused for a moment, feeling his heart seize up a little. Sometimes he loved Sandburg so damned much it seemed unreal. If only...if only Blair could hear _him_. Jim knew that he did a good job of hiding what he was really feeling, but sometimes he wished he didn't. Sometimes his heart beat so hard around Blair that he wanted to just drop the act, throw up his hands and ask, "Can't you _hear_ that?" 

Jim shook his head hard trying to knock those thoughts back to where they lived in the recesses of his mind. He knew there was nothing he could do. Nothing he was yet willing to do. Taking chances with something so personal wasn't his idea of a good bet. Physical challenges he had control over--he knew his body well. Emotional ones were...different. Courage had no meaning in this kind of game. 

He finally spotted their waiter at the far end of the romantic restaurant. He forced a polite expression onto his face and quickly threaded his way over. After all, Blair was hungry and Jim couldn't wait to see what his friend would order. 

* * *

>Part 3  


* * *

The waiter left quickly, shaking out his hand in a gesture that Jim interpreted to be indicative of writer's cramp. Jim snorted into his water glass at the sight; the waiter had had to go find a pencil and pad to take their order on. This was a French-themed restaurant--the servers memorized orders, they didn't write them down. Apparently there were exceptions to this rule, however, and Sandburg was one of them. 

"I love French food." 

"Hm." Jim was used to Blair's seemingly random style of conversation by now. 

"I discovered my all-time favorite food in France, you know." 

Jim's turned his attention back to his friend, interested in spite of himself, and smiled. "I didn't know that tongue was a big dish in France, Chief." 

Blair answered Jim's grin and pulled the dish of sugar packets over and started fiddling with them. "Actually, tongue isn't my favorite food. It's my favorite _comfort_ food, just not my absolute favorite food. There's a difference." 

Jim blinked. "It's not...ok, wait a minute...but you like...that is, I've seen you eat..." Jim paused, suddenly mildly angry. Issues like favorite foods shouldn't be this complicated. "Are you trying to tell me that we've lived together for almost three years and I don't know what your favorite food is?!?" It seemed impossible that he not know such a basic thing about his best friend. 

"You've never seen me eat it. I wouldn't expect that you'd know it." Blair was calmly expending his steady stream of energy into sorting sweetener packets by color. 

Jim reached across and took over manning the blue pile of rectangular paper packets. "So, spill Chief." 

"Promise not to laugh?" 

"Uh, sure." Jim glanced up at his friend and chuckled a little. "Here, I'll help you. Blair Sandburg's all time favorite food iiiissss..." 

"Nutella." Blair suddenly ducked his head and began an intense effort to build a sugar fort. 

Jim blinked. "Bless you." 

Blair sighed. "No, Nutella. It's a food...well, sort of." 

"How can something be 'sort of' a food?" 

"Because Nutella is more like a topping for food. Like peanut butter, except Nutella is a chocolate-hazelnut spread. I can't believe that you've never heard of it." 

"And I can't believe that you, Mr. Natural, would eat such a thing. Chocolate and hazelnut, huh?" 

"Yeah." And then Blair looked up and grinned his million dollar grin and Jim felt the world gray a little at the edges. God, that man could smile. 

Jim's thoughts wandered and he barely noticed when the waiter brought over their soups, lost in imagining what Nutella would taste like. More specifically, he imagined what it would taste like spread all over Blair. *Oh, please god, give me that. I need hope, a sign, something,* he thought. He hated the feeling of having no hope, although at the same time he was too realistic to dwell on thinking too much about it. Hope was a thing for kids at Christmas, not for old cops with boners for their same-sex partner. 

All of a sudden Jim realized that Blair's hand was gripping his forearm. He felt the bright heat through the arm of his suit jacket. He blinked and his eyes felt dry. Had he been zoning on Blair again? God, he hated when that happened. So hard to explain. 

"Jim, were you zoning?" 

"Damn, I was hoping you could tell me." 

"I have no idea. You just stopped blinking for a minute there. I didn't even notice at first until I looked up and thought you were staring at me." 

"I was." 

"Excuse me?" 

"I mean, hell Sandburg, can't you even eat like an adult?" Jim reached over and wiped a tiny spot of soup off Blair's nose with his thumb. Then he had to laugh at the pole-axed expression on his friend's face. 

"How did that get there?" 

"You're asking me?" 

Blair finally pulled his hand off of Jim's arm when the waiter stopped by to check on them and Jim sighed silently. His arm felt exceptionally cold all of a sudden and he pulled it closer to his body and shivered a little. 

The waiter seemed a lot friendlier now that Jim and Blair weren't making anymore unusual demands. He paused next to their table to chat for a minute. He was tall and thin, with a tight smile and wide hazel eyes. He was also obviously fresh out of France and had the rolling, romantic accent to prove it. 

"You are having a good time, n'est-ce pas?" 

"Yes, thank you," Blair replied. 

"It's very nice," Jim added. 

The waiter looked over their table and then gave Jim a mock-stern look. "How would you know, Monsieur? You have not even tried the soup." 

"Sorry. Got a little distracted there." Jim glanced over at Blair and the waiter followed his look. The waiter suddenly smiled knowingly and his shoulders relaxed, changing his body language. Jim read the message *I know what you're thinking* and felt a little thrill of alarm shoot through his body. What had the waiter seen? Jim staring? Blair gripping his arm? Would Blair pick up on the waiter's suddenly clear blip on the great cosmic gaydar? 

"I understand. Are you two celebrating tonight?" Another knowing smile. 

Blair brightened and answered cheerfully, "Yeah, man. It's a special night for us." Jim groaned inwardly. That answer would only add to the waiter's misconception of their relationship. Blair had made it sound like they were having some sort of anniversary. Jim wished, of course, that it were that reason instead of just celebrating the closing of the McNamara murder case that they had decided to splurge on a fancy dinner tonight. It didn't seem fair that he was going to have to laugh this whole misunderstanding off later when Blair finally realized what the waiter thought about them. They always joked around after discovering that yet another person thought their relationship was something it wasn't. He hoped for Blair's sake that the man would keep any personal comments to himself because that would only add to what would surely be an unpleasant situation for his straight Guide. 

"Ah, je comprend. It is only three months ago that my Richard and I celebrated our own special night." The waiter frowned at that and Jim watched in mild despair as his most recent hope was shot to hell. This definitely counted as personal. "Unfortunately, it was not long after that I moved to the United States." 

Jim thought that Blair looked a little puzzled, but was obviously trying to be nice as he replied, "Oh, do you miss him?" 

"Of course," the waiter said with a tiny smile. His nice hazel eyes softened further as they moved from one man to the other. "It helps to see you two so happy. Je souhait...ah, never mind. Perhaps Richard will be able to move here soon, je ne sais pas. Please, enjoy your soup. Your meals will be ready shortly." He walked quickly away and Jim noted that his slender shoulders were slumped a little and his head was down. 

"How sad," Blair murmured, eyes a little vague as they contemplated the depths of his soupspoon. 

Jim held his breath, waiting to see what, exactly, Blair had picked up on. "What do you mean?" 

"He misses his lover so much." 

Jim's jaw locked in his effort to keep it from flying open. Lover. Blair had just said "lover" like he said "chocolate." And oh, how gorgeous his mouth looked saying things like that--full lips pressing and opening, teeth lightly biting his lower lip and tongue gently flicking in and out. 

"Jim, breathe." 

Jim sucked in air, feeling himself flush as blood flooded his cheeks. 

"What the hell is wrong with you tonight?" Blair sounded mightily annoyed as he picked up the wine list and fanned at Jim with it. 

Jim batted the leather booklet away and glared. "Knock it off, Sandburg!" 

"You knock it off first and then I will." Blair's eyes flashed behind his glasses. It was, again, a sexy moment. 

Jim sighed, plucking the wine list away from Blair and setting it back down. "Sorry, I'm just...distracted." 

"Yeah, I got that when you told the waiter. What I want to know, is why." 

"I just have something on my mind. Can we talk about something else now?" Jim felt a little dizzy. He wasn't sure what to think about Blair so easily referring to a homosexual couple as "lovers." They had talked about the concept many times before, but usually in a joking manner because of some comments made, "behind their backs" (which was an impossible concept when one of the backs was a Sentinel's), about their partnership. Of course Blair was open-minded, no one would ever doubt that. But there was a huge difference between an open-minded "live and let live" attitude and embracing the concept of gay men being lovers of one another. Jim knew for certain that they had never talked about _that_. 

Blair nibbled at a kaiser roll, inadvertently putting on yet another show with his mouth, and spoke. "No problem. You know, I don't know how I'd feel if my lover moved to another country. I mean, we're like eight thousand miles away from France, or something. That would really suck." 

That wasn't at all what Jim had meant by changing the subject. He had nothing to say to that. He lived with the fear of Blair jetting off to another country every day of his life, ever since the terror came to live with him after Doctor Stoddard had called two years ago offering Blair a trip to Borneo. 

Blair continued blithely, "Of course, if it was meant to be, anything would be possible. I know that if I really loved somebody I'd put up with just about anything for them." 

"You would?" Jim asked dumbly, wondering where this conversation could possibly go and if it could get worse than this. 

Blair looked up quickly from his soup. "Sure! I've had plenty of practice after all." And then a startled look flashed over Blair's features and he dropped his head back over his soup, curly hair hiding his face as he ate in sudden silence. 

And Jim sat in amazement; sluggish brain trying to figure out if he had just had a very important clue dropped in his lap. This felt like one of those mystery game moments where he wanted to shout something like, "Colonel Mustard in the Conservatory with the candlestick!" but didn't quite dare yet because he just wasn't sure. It was that kind of itching feeling of uncertain discovery. It was a familiar feeling for the detective. He thought for another moment as the silence continued except for Blair's soft soup-eating sounds. He felt as if he was working one of those sliding square puzzles where there was one piece missing and you were supposed to slide the squares around until the picture was unscrambled. Jim could almost see his fingers in his head, trying desperately to unscramble a picture of Blair. He also felt, for the first time, that he could very well manage it--perhaps in time to make use of his knowledge. Perhaps even in time to join Blair at what was proving to be a very interesting meal. 

* * *

>Part 4  


* * *

The meals had come, accompanied by some more friendly comments from their waiter, whom they discovered was named Alain. Blair ate with single-minded determination, plowing through his garlic and parsley potatoes (no butter) and salmon fillet (broiled, not stuffed), barely looking at the man seated across from him. Jim picked at his blackened tuna and asparagus, automatically adjusting his dials for taste, touch and scent. All three had to be accounted for when tackling especially highly spiced foods. The food was good, but Jim hardly noticed. 

What he was really concentrating on was the man across from him. This wasn't new, per se, but tonight Blair was mysterious in a way he'd never been before. Although Jim was used to expending considerable energy on understanding Blair, this situation was different. It called for a highly tuned level of analysis. Tonight Blair was a, a...Jim paused and wrinkled his brow, thinking. Ah, that's a good word--Blair was a conundrum. 

Jim was proud of himself for being able to describe Blair in only one word. That almost never happened. 

The meal had started out ordinarily enough. Blair was annoying, Jim teased him, they riled up some restaurant staff, Blair got testy, so did Jim, Blair looked gorgeous, Jim drooled. Just your average evening out for Ellison and Sandburg. But then the waiter had assumed they were a couple. This also happened fairly often and what Jim was trying to figure out was why this time was different. Sure, this time it was a stranger who had noticed that he and Blair were close; usually it took time for people to jump to that conclusion. Why was this time bugging him so much? 

One reason was obvious--Blair had reacted differently. He seemed to realize it too, and that's most certainly why he was now focusing on his meal like he was going to find Sir Richard Burton himself at the bottom of that pile of potatoes. Blair was obviously embarrassed. 

Jim replayed the conversation in his head, using sense memory to recall Blair's expressions as he spoke and the nuances of his words and reactions. 

One thing stood out immediately--Blair had seemed amazingly at peace with the situation this evening. Usually when someone was so obvious about assuming he and Jim were in love, Blair would blush or immediately ward off the assumption, do something to make it clear that wasn't true. Blair was usually very good at reading people and diffusing difficult encounters with humor, self-deprecation, sometimes both. But tonight he had at first seemed to not understand what the waiter was saying and then it was almost like he was going along with the idea. 

Jim sat up straight at that thought. How on earth would Blair _not_ have seen what the waiter had meant. Hell, Jim wouldn't be surprised if the people at all the booths around them had _all_ understood what the waiter meant. It didn't bother Jim; he would be proud to be known as Blair's lover. But it was a new idea to think that Blair wouldn't mind the notion being known as well. In fact, by letting the waiter continue to think that tonight was some sort of anniversary for them, and Jim now realized that Blair must have known exactly what he was saying, the kid was practically a genius after all, it seemed like Blair had _encouraged_ the misconception. This was definitely a new development. He wondered what had made Blair change his mind. It didn't really matter, but it would be nice to know so that he could make sure Blair spent a lot of time in the near future reevaluating their relationship. Every little bit helped. 

Jim smiled and took a bite of his tuna to hide the look. Then he immediately slammed his napkin against his mouth and spit the fish out, in instant pain. He gagged and hunched over the table. Christ, his mouth was on fire, his tongue was splitting open, the tuna must have been coated with acid, there was no other explanation. He tried to suck in a breath and wheezed loudly as his lungs rebelled against the action. Everything from the waist up felt blistered in pain. 

All of a sudden, he was being shoved over in his seat and a warm, calm presence was right next to him. Jim realized vaguely that Blair had slid into the booth seat with him and he tried to focus his burning senses onto his partner. Even roasting in the depths of hell, Jim knew Blair would be the one who could get him out. 

Voice low, Blair began his nonsense spiel. The words he said were almost always the same, the tone and occasional reminders to focus on the dials were what were important. Blair's hands were solid and soothing as they rubbed his back. That didn't hurt at all; it felt good. It felt right. Jim focused on the two square feet of his upper body that no longer hurt. As he focused on that, the healing sensation seemed to spread out, away from the area Blair was rubbing. After several long minutes of suffering, Jim was at last able to slowly unfold himself and sit up again. He ran his tongue around his lips and was amazed to feel that the skin was still intact; it had only _felt_ like it was flayed open. 

"Open up." Blair waited until Jim obeyed and then popped a small piece of ice into Jim's mouth. 

Jim's eyes flew wide open and he leaned over and spit the ice back out, onto his plate. 

"Fuck, Sandburg!" Blair's blue eyes calmly regarded him, not reacting to Jim's angry tone. "I mean, Jesus! The flames in my mouth are barely out and you're throwing ice on them?!? Too much at once, asshole, don'tcha think?" 

Blair cocked his head to one side and raised an eyebrow. "And how does your mouth feel now, _asshole_?" 

Jim hesitated, taking a second to check. No way. Wow. "It feels...great, actually. Just a little numb, but that's a relief." He turned and stared at the man who was just sliding out of the booth and back over to his own side. "How did you know?" 

Blair shrugged. "I just do." 

Alain, the waiter, chose that moment to inch over, warily regarding the two men. "Is everything all right, Messieurs? The gentleman is not ill?" 

Blair smiled reassuringly. "Actually, the gentleman isn't feeling that well. He's a pig-headed idiot who deserves what he gets, but still, he is a bit ill." Jim tried to glare at his friend, but his heart wasn't in it. 

"Not serious, I hope." 

"Chronic, I'm afraid." Blair laughed to show he was joking--mostly. He waved his hands. "It's OK, Alain, really. Actually, we'll be going home now, so if we could get things wrapped up and take care of the bill, it'd be great." Jim realized that he wasn't at all surprised that Blair was taking charge this way. Jim really did want to go home. He had been enjoying his fish, but in that one moment of distraction his concentration had slipped. He grimaced and realized that if he ever wanted to eat anything spicier than bacon he was going to have to put his whole mind into the effort. The consequences were just too painful. 

"That will be no problem. I'm sorry if this has ruined your special evening?" He clearly was worried and wanted to know. 

"Not at all," Blair said with another smile. 

Alain relaxed. "This is good. I'm glad. You should be happy tonight. If you don't mind my asking, how long have you two been together?" 

"Almost three years." Blair's eyes flicked over to Jim as he said this. Jim leaned his elbows on the table and rested his chin in his hands. This was another interesting exchange. He wasn't about to interrupt. 

"That is wonderful! I am happy for you!" With that Alain bobbed his head and hurried off to close out their account. 

Jim leaned back in his seat, rubbing at his mouth a little and returning to his earlier contemplation. Blair avoided his eyes and played with the parsley garnish on his plate, twirling it around like a little umbrella. 

Although Jim knew he took Blair for granted sometimes, there were occasions when his partner just blew him away. This most recent senses "emergency" was one of those times. Jim had been absolutely helpless and Blair had "fixed" him in three minutes flat. Jim honestly didn't know what he would do without Blair. He made a wish every day that he'd never find out. 

He thought back over his reaction to Blair's help and realized that he had been less than an ideal patient, as usual. It's not that he wasn't grateful; he was always, eternally grateful for Blair. He just hated being helpless. His reaction when in such situations was to strike first, ask questions later. It just usually ended up sounding grumpy. 

"Thank you, Blair." 

Blair jumped and dropped the parsley. He snatched it back up, eyes moving up to Jim briefly and then jumping back down to his hands. "Uh, no problem. Anytime Jim, you know that." 

Again, Jim was impressed. He knew that he, himself, wouldn't stand to be treated how he sometimes treated Blair. His partner had just saved him--again--and Jim didn't remember to thank him until a good five minutes later. Jim recalled what Blair had said earlier about putting up with anything for true love. He had lots of practice, he had said. Jim smiled. 

The waiter returned and Jim deftly intercepted the bill and paid it. Blair made half-hearted attempts to pay half, but Jim just gave him a _look_ and he desisted. The food was wrapped up and the two men made their way outside. They paused under the restaurant's awning and put themselves together enough to walk the four blocks home in the chilly mist of Cascade in March. 

"So, pretty weird night, huh?" 

Jim nodded, watching his partner zip up his jacket and pull on some finger-less gloves. 

"You gonna say anything?" 

Jim shrugged and smiled a small smile, still watching Blair. His partner was now trying to tuck his hair under the hood of his coat. His hair, not liking captivity, was fighting the move. 

Jim leaned over and set the Styrofoam food box on the ground. He straightened and reached out to help his partner. He snugged the hood closer around Blair's head and used his hands to gently push the curls away from his partner's face and under the protective covering. 

Blair watched him with big, round eyes. 

Jim pushed his hands further into Blair's hair, gathering the strands until his hands were both around the back of Blair's neck, holding the mass of vibrant curls within his hood. 

"Tell me one thing, OK?" 

Blair licked his lips and said, "Sure." 

"Is it worth it?" 

Blair's eyebrows squinted together as he considered the question. "Is what worth it?" 

Jim let his thumbs drift out of Blair's hair and across the fine bones of his jaw. "All of it." 

Blair's lips parted and his eyes grew impossibly rounder. "Jim," he said. Jim smiled. He loved how Blair said his name, almost as if he were biting the word off as his lips pressed together on the "m." Blair sighed. "Jim, it's not nearly enough." 

Jim leaned down until his forehead rested against Blair's. "I was hoping you'd say that. I know that I'll never get enough of you." He pulled back slightly and, using his hands to angle Blair's head up a bit, he ghosted a kiss over Blair's soft, soft lips. Blair's hand came up to cup the side of his head and prolong the kiss for a moment. 

They broke apart and grinned at each other. Jim pulled his hands gently out of Blair's hair then, tucking one errant strand back behind an ear. He picked up the box of food and nudged Blair to start walking with him. They walked with their heads down against the light, misting rain, arms pressed together and hips gently brushing. 

"So, this was our three year anniversary, eh?" He was still grinning. He'd probably still be grinning a week from now, but that was OK because so would Blair. 

"Nah, this was just a practice run. You owe me big on the actual day, my man." 

"Do I? And when, pray tell, is the _actual_ day?" 

Blair shot him a pretend look of outrage. "You mean you don't know?!? Ooo, boy are you in trouble." 

Jim laughed. "Sorry if I wasn't keeping better track of the dates when I was busy trying to go insane and catch a serial bomber all at the same time. I know I'm a terrible husband." He sighed and shook his head at himself, still grinning. "So, do _you_ know what the actual date is?" 

Blair made a face up at Jim, crossing his eyes and scrunching up his nose. "Well, no...but that's not the point!" He was speaking quickly, trying to be heard over Jim's hooting laugh. "A husband should know these things!" 

Jim slung an arm over Blair's shoulders and tucked him close to his side. "Come on, let's get you home, my little wife." 

And they walked home through the night drizzle, Blair spluttering out a retort and Jim chuckling gently, bodies pressed as close as they could get and still get where they needed to go. 

* * *

>C'est fini

 


End file.
